


your slightest look easily will unclose me

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Phil Coulson: Human Desaster, Post Jiaying, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy returns from a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your slightest look easily will unclose me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts).



> Guys I can't with the canon fluff, so have some headcanon fluff.
> 
> For Skyepilot who prompted me (on tumblr). Thanks so much :)  
> Hope you like!
> 
> Prompt:  
> [COULSON MAKES THE PERFECT SANDWICH. THEN DAISY COMES BACK FROM A MISSION AND EATS IT.]

It's been a really long day, and Coulson hasn't had a minute to himself. The past two hours or so, he's spent talking her through an extraction possibility over the comms. Things have been a little weird at the base lately without May (and without Simmons), to say the least. Not to mention the fact that he still keeps jolting awake from phantom pain nightmares in spite of going to sleep with his robot hand attached (Fitz has been telling him to take it off, but what does Fitz know about how this feels).

To sum it up, things have been more than hard. He's been trying to relax, to let things go, to pretend he's still who he was before in a way, and to live up to that without getting stuck between what he can do and what he wants to do. Skye – no, damnit, _Daisy_ , obviously – has become some sort of a leader, and he's surprised to discover some of her (at least that's what he'd labelled them in the beginning) Rising Tide traits surface again. They are definitely qualities, but it remains a mystery to him how she's changing constantly and still managing to be the person he'd been happy to call Skye. 

Shakespeare's always been one of his favourite poisons (believing in Marlowe has actually always been some sort of knock-out criterion for him), but why his goddamn archipelago of a brain can't remember to call her Daisy is beyond him. _Yeah, what's in a freaking name_. Oh, not to create any misunderstandings, he gets why she wants to be called that, it's just that … _Daisy_ seems such a small name for her, whereas _Skye_ … _Skye_ 's told him everything he'd needed to know about her in order to be able to trust her, ever since the beginning. _Skye_ seems limitless, and _Daisy_ , to him, sounds like something so small and so fragile that it's more than likely to be overlooked and trod over.

Not that this is in any way an impression he gets from her. Everything about her says _hero_ know – not in a loud or pretentious way, she just seems so solid and calm and _determined_ now, not unlike when she was with the Rising Tide, but stronger, more capable, more certain about how to make her voice heard. He can't deny he's been very impressed with her lately.

He's just sat down on the couch with a checkered blue plate in front of him, this generous sandwich being the first thing he's touched today besides stuff he'd needed for the mission. It's comfort food – a small ciabatta filled with all kinds of vegetables, some prosciutto and cheese –, and to be honest, making them is more his guilty pleasure than actually eating them, even though he can't deny he indulges his passion for artsy cooking sometimes. He's just set down the plate when she barges in, a sharp breeze following her as she walks over to the table.

„You okay, Agent?“, he asks.  
„Yeah. Fine. Perfect.“ She's still wearing her tac suit. „I _could_ have been back _earlier_ though if that little _chipmunk_ of an intern hadn't told me he'd have to _process_ me and my spontaneously made up field report _right away_.“  
He chuckles, and she suddenly looks less angry. „You look like you could use a shower – and coffee? Something to eat?“ Her frown melts away, and she drops into the couch next to him.  
„ _Thanks_ , Phil,“ she sighs, audibly happy, pulling the checkered plate over to her side. „You shouldn't have.“ She almost sounds chirpy, and he _knows_ he's kind of staring at her face, because she looks so radiant and satisfied and relieved, but he can't really think of anything he can do about it.

She catches him looking at her and instantly stops eating.  
„Do I have something on my – oh no, was that – Coulson, was that _yours_? I'm so sorry, I didn't -“  
„What? No. Yes. I mean, no, come on, it's – nothing. It's – I'm glad you're back in one piece.“ He looks a little flustered, and she smiles, continues eating. To be honest, he's not completely sure if she understood, but then again, she basically reads him like a book. She's called him _Phil_ , and he just finds it nowhere in him to correct her. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! I can't help myself, my stuff has turned out a little too fluffy lately, I guess. :)
> 
> Title taken from an e. e. cummings poem.


End file.
